Perpetual Motion Machine: Perpetuum Mobile

So back in the day, before the math and the physics were as subtle as they get nowadays, fine gentlemen scientists thought perpetual motion machines would be a great idea.  All you need is one singular burst of activation energy and then you get a machine that keeps running itself, indefinitely.

Now with friction and all those other pesky ways energy is lost over time, we know that this will not be the case, eventually the power source is exhausted, or the parts wear out, or a whole mess of other variables kick in (talk to a math or physics person for all the elegant formulae please).  The Deutsches Museum in Munich has an entire exhibit hall devoted to quite the collection of these contraptions and the vision of them has stayed with me in the years since I've been there.

Now enter Charlie....

Charlie doesn't coast, can't coast, the pedals go round and round, always.  Charlie is a fixie, one must even pedal to stop.  Even when coming to a halt we're advancing.

Charlie is my perpetual motion machine.  (Or the closest I'm going to get).

Life can look this way sometimes too.

There's a goal and you go all out for the goal, and once it is achieved you think, "Well - okay, I've achieved this, so now I can rest.  I'll try hard again later when it suits my purposes." (I was thinking like this lately and realized how ridiculous it was.) Or, "Ok, I've put in the activation energy, now I'm here! It'll keep moving of its own accord."

But living, really living, doesn't work like that.  It's a dynamic succession of determining, striving, failing, getting back up - and even once you've achieved the goal, moving forward, growing, changing, challenging the next horizon.

Because really, why would you want to coast when there's so much adventure in the challenge?

Back to that Moment

I want to go back,
back to that moment
last weekend
last morning
last month
when everything was new and bright
the sun was shining
and there was a springtime's worth of it everywhere

I want to go back,
back to that moment
when anything was possible

I want to go back,
back to that moment
when I first realized I could do it
the pride and wonder
when I could first ride a bike
(or you can stick any first experience of the positive life-changing variety in here)

But I can't go back

And so I go forward
pedal stroke by pedal stroke
through puddles
dodging garbage trucks
jaywalking pedestrians
everything on the road
that seems
for today
anyway
to want to do me in

I go forward
ceaselessly
until at some moment
I don't know when
(maybe I've pedaled
long enough
or far enough)
that the feeling returns

And I can do it
and it's wonder
and mystery
and adventure

its on a bike

just because you grow up
doesn't mean
you have to lose the joy
the wonder
the fun of it all

Bicycle
my time machine
imagination vehicle?

Tales from the Road: Midnight Marathon Ride

Sometime last year I came across the blog of the inestimable Greg Hum, who had come up with the fantastic idea of starting something I came to learn as the Boston Marathon Midnight Bike Ride - in coordination with the Society of Sponateity.

I found out about this long after the fact and found myself overcome with the excitement to participate the very next time this came around.  So I put it on my calendar, and did what anyone would do  ~ kept riding my bike.

Months and adventures pass and the end of March approached and I asked myself, are you serious about this?  On a fixie, are you crazy?  I read as much about the previous years as possible, and informed all the bicycle-prone people in my life.  In the end I was joined by the Beard and Watson.  Beard on a single speed, Watson with gears and a mixte frame, and me with Charlie the fixie.

The forecast didn't explicitly say rain even though it was swampy humid.  We set off from 1369 in Central (thanks for caffeine, this ride was past my bedtime to say the least) and made for South Station.  Watson procured some commuter rail tickets for us along the way.

Not having biked to South Station myself, and being the designated leader of this little menagerie, we were most fortunate to run across the founder himself, Mr. Hum - and were able to follow his and his companion's lead to South Station.

Then we waited.....

....the station filled with bicycles and their humans.  Spandex clad with advanced equipment, rust buckets, mixtes, fixie whips, folding bikes, and even a few Hubways - in every color! Mardi Gras beads, glow lights....

... and we waited.

They called the train and we queued up and we waited.

The cars filled and people crowded in with bicycles....

Our car:

Some were neatly stacked, some thrown about.  And we waited.....

The train left more than 20 minutes late because they had to add another car, there were so many of us.  More than 600 I am told.  And the train ride commenced.  And so more waiting (or in my case a bit of a nap)...

And although I write "waiting" a lot, cyclists aren't the waiting type.  Waiting in this story means jokes, questions, exchanges, finding out things you never knew, admiring a stranger's bicycle, eating, and telling stories. So there is much more to these hours of the night than just waiting.  (Swapping tenses!)

Anticipation rises as we approach the Southborough stop.... people begin final checks on their bicycles and equipment, unfold from commuter rail resting positions.  Start to get ready to disembark.

And the train pulls up and the platform isn't long enough.  So half the train unloads and they move the train up.  We gather in the parking lot across from the train stop.  There are more of us than fit into it's confines.

A small undulating sea of blinking lights, the great mass of bicycles unseen in the darkness.

And then it begins to rain.

Mutterings of general contempt for the sky ensue.  The newbies are not prepared for this.

This is when you wish for fenders if you don't have them, and grin if you do.

We set off!  The writhing mass unsure of how to all fit under the train bridge on the road to the Marathon's starting line.  Our little menagerie is separated.  

The next miles to the starting line all seem to be uphill with no streetlamps.  The only visage upon the road is a constant stream of blinking bicycle lights reflected upon the wet road.  Looking ahead - a sea of red, looking behind, white shining.

For whatever reason some cyclists start singing, first this:

then this:

Both of which I know by heart, the later from what is, admittedly my favorite Disney film.

So it's not that strange to be in your mid-late-twenties and sing mildly obscure Disney songs at the top of your lungs in the middle of night whilst riding a bicycle in the dark with hundreds of people you've never met, right?

Uphill, uphill, passing each other here and there.  The tick-tick-tick of derailleurs hard at work, Charlie and I continue, pedal, pedal.  One large hill looms, streetlights emerge, have to stand up - for the first time wishing for gears.  Somehow it ends up feeling like a great big version of Prospect Hill back in Somerville - the steep bits anyway.  Many walking their bikes up.

At last we of the menagerie find each other.  We reach the starting line.  The rain continues but with less enthusiasm.

Then it's downhill.  Not some gentle lowgrade, but something kids with sleds dream of.  Beware of wet brakes ladies and gentlemen.

But I can't coast, choosing to do this fixie.  Bomb!  Legs spin round and round and round.  Apply resistance to pedals to achieve deceleration, don't want to waste the breaks on this one.  Watson and Beard go on ahead, I'm a bit over-cautious, these are some of the longest, swiftest downgrades I've ever navigated with Charlie as a fixie.

Eventually the rain stops.  Eventually the downhill is less intense.  I don't know how many miles it took, it was so exhilarating it goes by too fast.

Porta-potties provided, untouched, for your convenience along the way.  Really they are for tomorrow's crowds, but how often are they observed unsullied?

The miles continue.  When a car approaches from the front cries of "car!" flow through the throng, when from behind, "car back!".

The miles go on. The throng stretches out over miles as the paces stretch out by speed.  You can go for some time without another cyclist in sight. We pass well-known places, Wellesley College, much later Boston College.... but I get ahead of myself.

Framingham is our Skylla and Charybdis:  The commuter rail tracks cross the road on a curve.  The tracks are wet, the road is wet.  The rubber track liners, meant to ease the passage of car tires, with much larger contact patches, are too flexible, the rubber too slippery.  The first wave of cyclists, these people by no means beginners - take a hit, there are several severe falls, and badly damaged bicycles.  By the time we arrive there are police cars warning the oncoming bicycles, two ambulances, and a fire engine.  We dismount and walk across.  I later learn that over the course of the night these tracks claim their share of cyclist blood and bicycles.

As the miles continue we encounter bike drummers.  Drunken enthusiasts who wait outside their homes in these late hours to cheer us on and give us high-fives as the night wears on.  Folks with flat tires being aided by strangers. Every time we stop people going by never fail to ask "Are you ok?".  We ask the same to others.  Cliff bars save the day, and a bag of mixed nuts.

Never really register HeartBreak Hill, by that point legs are mush, have been pedaling the whole way, Charlie and I.  Have already biked twenty miles that day before we went to South Station.  Our menagerie is fatigued but determined.  We pass into more familiar parts of Boston.  We pass Superb Bicycle.  We come upon the final blocks, turn onto Boylston, and sprint down this multiple lane street toward the finish, down a road that is usually a taxi cab death trap for the uninitiated cyclist.

And under the finish line.

By this point it is 4am.

We got to South Station around 9.  The midnight train left late. We flew, then tired and slow.  It didn't matter, we made it.

A brief rest.  By the time everyone, wet pants and all, were safely cycled home, it's almost 5, and the new day is beginning.  I pass several cyclists headed down to do Hal's ride on my way home.  Maybe, when I'm faster, I'll do that one.

A great adventure, certainly worth all the wait.  A great thanks to the organizers and support volunteers. To the civil service individuals, police, firestation personnel, ambulance, and emergency services folks.  To the wonderful people who always asked, "Are you ok?".  To the people who stayed up all night to wave to a bunch of silly bikers.  To the people at the T and Commuter rail conductors.  The fine folks who pointed the way in the dark so we didn't get lost.  To the founders and all the intrepid folks who dared to do such a thing.

See you all next year?:)

Tales from the Road: Parts

Charlie went fixie in October, we went through a cog in 5 months....
....that meant replacing half the drive train after 1,700 miles.

New Dura-Ace cog
SRAM chain

Charlie showing off his shiny Origin-8 rear hub, back when things were still shiny and new at the beginning of March, right after the tune-up....

Still have yet to use the freewheel on this flip-flop hub.  Still rocking the same old chain-ring, over seven thousand miles with that thing, but the rapid development of chain stretch each and every time we replace the chain says, it's almost time.... Maybe when this cog wears out in a couple months (or less b.c I'm riding more), we'll replace the entire drive train.  

Just like our bicycles we have to adjust to changes, reinvent ourselves from time to time.  Doesn't mean we have to reinvent the wheel; but to invite new adventures, new growth, new chances for happiness, we might need to change up what used to drive us.

Dreaming of Campy parts....

We've now gone over 7,500 miles together, Charlie and I....

....here's to ten thousand! 

A moment, just a moment and the winter that wasn't

Often betimes we post more in the winter when buried in snow and no trusty bicycle has a plow large enough to see us on our way to happiness with each swift and true turn of the wheels.  But this winter was the winter that wasn't.  It was warm, it might of snowed once or twice but the trees didn't really notice.

And we kept biking all winter long, didn't miss a day, even rode home in the snow - the couple of times it actually managed to stick around long enough.

Sometimes things just don't go as expected.  Like the winter that wasn't.

But life can change in just a moment, just a single tiny thing.  It can all go topsy-turvy on you.  A dear and young friend died this weekend, just a shy month from graduating from college.

In a moment, just a small moment, a lot of things can change.

So I would ask to anyone, anywhere, anywhen - who ever had anyone they loved, liked or even mildly cared about - to treasure each moment.  Put on your helmet, even if it's sunny or you're just going down the street.  Remind the people you care about that you do.  Inconvenience is inconvenient, but the effort made is paid back in more ways, across more people, more times than you know.  And you never know when it is the last time.

Our lives are perilously uncertain; so be yourself always, tell the truth always, do not compromise your truth if you're brave enough to know it.  These are things my dear lost friend is teaching me, and she'll keep teaching me something new every day as long as I live, because she lives in my heart, and yours, even if you didn't know her.

Sun Tzu on a bicycle? Cycling and soft power, pt 1

I'm a veggie powered girl on a bike and I am changing the world. By riding a bike.

An enigma on wheels....  Adventure rolling by...  

Before I braved these city streets on two wheels myself, I'd seen them in my college years, had friends who were - cyclists.  They seemed to walk some other path.  I just didn't get it.  Over time and many other variables (location of residence, schedule, financial, sense of adventure, wanting to feel the wind on my face) I decided to give it a try.

No one ever held a gun to my head and said, "You'd better ride a bicycle, or else you're gonna get it!"  No one ever threatened my family or loved ones and forced me to ride a bicycle.  No one told me I was doomed to damnation and hellfire if I didn't bicycle.  No one made me do it.  No makes me do it.  It's all an internally motivated decision.

I wanted the sun, the sky, and the stars.  I wanted the wind and the city lights. And so I rode.

I didn't want the stuffed and stinky T.  I no longer wanted to engage with the unreliable and inefficient buses.  I wanted a choice. I wanted my own piece of that enigma and adventure. So I rode.

That attraction, that drive is part of something larger.  Something internally motivated.  Something that can change the world.  You might call it soft power.

Soft power?  Professor Joseph Nye's term for the sort of influence and power that doesn't involve guns, wars, economics, appeasement, sanctions, coercion, and the like (i.e. hard power).  Soft power comes from the power of attraction.  Soft power means getting the people you want to do something you want them to do without the use of force.

Soft power in action in the present...

This Economist article (to paraphrase and oversimplify a bit more than I'd like) documents the Chinese government tapping the legenaday Sun Tzu on the shoulder and recruiting him out of history to serve as their soft power mascot/bandleader/spokesman.  A lot of things in more recent Chinese history make it somewhat unpalatable; human rights violations, that whole Tibet thing, that whole Communist thing, just to name a few. So how do you sell your image to foreign investors to help maintain your-total-crazy-awesome-wonderful-scary-impossible-to-maintain economic growth?  Soft power of course.  You don't want to come off as extremist, too one sided, or threatening, no! No! No!

So who comes to the rescue?  Indubitable historical legends (they have that Je ne sais quois).  Ladies and gentlemen, let us introduce Sun Tzu, legendary figure to whom The Art of War is credited.  Now walk into any largish book retailer and you can find all sorts of extrapolations on The Art of War, from fashion to business to martial arts, probably even baking (but I will admit, I haven't checked).  But as the Economist author points out, it is, in the end, still a book about war, which is not soft power.  So in trying to get in on the pop culture let's-do-everything-according-to-The-Art-of-War-and-we'll-succeed bandwagon, these government leaders have, in fact, not exactly hit the soft power nail on the head.

Getting it right, for the right reasons...

"... I would like to propose inner-motivation as the most important key for opening the way to an era of soft power. Over the ages, hard-power systems have succeeded by using the established tools of coercion or oppression to move people toward certain goals. What is characterized as soft power, however, is by contrast based on the inner-generated energy deriving from the internal urge that is created through consensus and satisfaction among human beings. The processes of soft power, the unleashing of the inner energies of the individual, have since ancient times been considered the proper province of philosophy in the broadest sense, rooted in the spiritual and religious nature of man."

These words belong to Dr. Daisaku Ikeda, lay Buddhist leader, educator, scholar, writer, etc. who gave a speech at Harvard University in 1991 on soft power.  He outlines an idea for social change based on the change within an individual, and how inner motivated change lays a powerful and profound foundation for an age of soft power.  But how does my riding a bike contribute to the foundation of a new age?

When you ride a bike you're making the choice to walk Frost's "road less traveled by" (as opposed to say, driving a car).  You're making a statement even if you're not out to make a statement. We are rolling advertisements for everything biking is. We're a varied bunch with a lot of different ideas on just about everything.  But we are through this very act, often inadvertently, making a statement for change.

Cyclists, in choosing these less traveled existential by-ways, in many ways embody this old New England standby (and of course other places!) of the "do it yourself" or DIY mentality. Do not leave to others what you can do.  "Stand up and make the change."* "Be the change you want to see in the world."** DIY comes from internal motivation for change, for betterment.  DIY requires you reach inward, past what we are sold or told we can do, a push inward toward creativity and growth.

Ikeda's explanation for a powerful social change comes from such internal growth and exploration.  When we dig deep inside for what we're truly made of, when we work to expand our capacity, when we challenge what we thought was possible we are walking the path to internal change. The same creativity and courage that powers DIY can power social change.

Weighing In: The Year In Review

The last thing I wrote here in 2010 contained this:


Goal: 2,200 miles by 9.24.10
Miles ridden to date: 2,072
Miles left to goal: 128
Days left: +87 over


Upon moving to Waltham in June 2010 and acquiring Charlie bicycle I had set for myself the goal of riding the "equivalent" distance of a Tour de France by my birthday of that year.  (More on that whole thing here.)  I had never been a cyclist commuter of that distance before, roughly 12 miles each way to and from work, depending on the route I took.  I needed a concrete goal and thus was born the (somewhat arbitrary) distance and time goal.  By December 20th, 2010 I had not yet reached my goal and had gone well beyond my allotted time for said goal.

As I was writing that post it began to snow. And snow. And snow, and snow - if you were in New England last winter you'll know what I'm talking about.

Enter 2011.

I moved to Somerville and things started to change.  I started biking everyday no matter the weather.  I past the next two thousand miles and the next two thousand miles without the struggles and drama that defined my first two thousand with Charlie. Switched to fixed gear despite the nervousness.

But without that struggle, without that ridiculous distance, without the mistakes, the getting lost, things constantly breaking because of my ignorance, the drama and the crushed expectation, without these I would not be who I am now or where I am now.  I might not have cultivated the spirit to take on the weather.  I might not have the ability to laugh at myself when I am splashed with gross puddle water.  I might not know the untold joy of biking these streets.

I could not have done it without all the help and encouragement, thanks everyone!

We've gone six thousand miles.  We've helped others learn how to bike and the joy of biking here.  We've found some folks who love bikes too!

Here's to ten thousand miles!  Here's to another year of adventure!